FMA OneShots
by JiraiyaWhitney
Summary: Ch6:  The last few paragraph are stained by fear. Fear of death, fear of leaving the world without just means but, most of all, fear of leaving without being heard. The military had the letter policy for a reason.
1. Hypothermia

Hypothermia

Disclaimer: I do not own RoyEd- or, um, I mean, FMA

Rating: T

Summary: _Ed couldn't hate him enough that he'd rather _die _of hypothermia than get close enough to try and stay warm, could he? _

_

* * *

_

Ed shivered and shut his eyes, pulling his knees to his body again. He was freezing. He needed to get warm; it wasn't safe to be this cold, especially with two metal limbs. Why was snow so cold? Damn it, why couldn't he get warm no matter how much he tried? Fuck, he was _cold_. He felt like he was frozen to the spot. The muscles in his leg were locked so _tight_ from the cold that it _hurt_. Fuck, he wanted it to be over already.

"Full Metal," Mustang's voice was muddled to his ears, but he was able to recognize it seconds before the older man touched him. His right hand would hurt him more than he wanted to. He just wanted to scare him away. He didn't want to hurt him right now. He didn't want to die alone….

His left hand came out and he swatted the man away, landing a blow against his right shoulder. It shouldn't have been that hard; it didn't feel like he'd hit him that hard to his body, but even his confused mind understood what the pained expression on the older man's face was and what clutching his shoulder meant. But he didn't hit that hard. His hand would hurt if it had. He couldn't feel anything in his hand; it was just cold, but it wasn't numb. It couldn't be numb. If it was numb, he was going to die soon. He couldn't die soon. Al was barely human. He needed him.

Through the cold, he managed to make his tongue work, though it still slurred his words, _"S'ay off'a meh…! S'ay 'way!"_

* * *

_Major General Olivier Armstrong stared down at Roy and Full Metal through her long eyelashes, tilting her head up so that it became all the more threatening. Full Metal's stance was that of defiance, though it always was, so he wasn't shocked at all._

_"What are you two doing here?"_

_Full Metal looked like he could snarl something, but Roy knew better than to get on Olivier's nerves and placed a gentle hand on the younger's left shoulder, squeezing just enough to get his attention through his rage. "Honestly, General, your guess is as good as ours. We were on the train to West City, far out of here, when we were ambushed. When we awoke, we were here."_

* * *

Who was he kidding? Alphonse didn't need him. Not really. No maybe brotherly in a time-to-time way. But he could get by without him. He didn't need him anymore. He had Winry to turn to. He had his body back. He didn't need him. Why didn't he need him anymore?

Why was he surprised that his little brother didn't need him anymore? Eventually, everyone started to drift away from him. Or he pushed them away. But he wouldn't push his brother. His brother was his brother. His brother didn't need him anymore. He was the dirty wipe cloth that had been kicked behind the radiator in a sleazy motel. He needed to be thrown away, but no one could do it to his face.

"Edward…." Mustang was talking to him again. He turned and glared at him, shooting him his 'stay away' glare as long as he could. But he was cold… he didn't like the cold. Why was he so cold?

* * *

_"So you come to me?" Her eyes were cold as stone._

_"No, we were in this room when we awoke!" Full Metal yelled._

_It took all he could to not swat him upside the head. Though he was Ed's superior officer, that didn't mean he could abuse him. "Don't say it so sarcastically, Full Metal." _

_"What?" He snapped, looking up at him with fire in his eyes. "I woke up in the middle of fucking _nowhere_ in a snowed in fucker-land"—he didn't doubt it was a play on wonderland—"I have the _wrong _Automail for this place because I hadn't planned on going this far up North,"—he held up three fingers now—"she doesn't believe our story"—four—"I want to hit something I'm so fucking irritated at this stupid ordeal"—five—"_and _I've got the fucking migraine from hell!"_

_"It's called 'chloroform' Full Metal."_

_"Yeah, I know what chloroform is you fucker. Do you know how many times I've been kidnapped on stupid, pointless missions you send me on?"_

_He blinked and furrowed his brow. He didn't. He had never known that Full Metal had _ever _been kidnapped a single time. It must be a detail he always spared him…._

* * *

Mustang was still trying to talk to him. Why was he talking to him? Didn't he get it? Roy could get himself out of here anytime with his gloves. Why wasn't he trying to fucking save himself? It's Survival of the Fittest here for a reason. Obviously, Fate had decided he wasn't the Fittest this time. He didn't blame her; he didn't have anything to live for now, anyway. Why would he need to be 'Fittest'? Roy could still get married… have kids… become Fuhrer…. Ed didn't care about any of that. Besides, who would want to even get with him? Ed was hideous.

"_Edward!_" It sounded like he was listening through thick glass which was made into a sphere around him. _What's an Edward?_ His mottled mind watched the older man as he reached out and tried to touch him again.

His hand swatted out, holding him off before coming back to hold his right shoulder instinctively as he shivered and shuddered, wracking his body so bad his jaw hurt from clacking. "_Please, Edward_,_ listen to me!_"

He looked up and watched the man, confused. What did he want him to do? What was an Edward? Listen? Huh? Why was this so confusing? Why couldn't his mind understand anything that he was saying? _Why was he so damn hot all of the sudden?_

* * *

_"There's a blizzard out," Major General Armstrong told them, pulling both of their attention to her once more. "The moment it passes, we're shoving you out so you can return to your travels to the West."_

_"Thank you," Roy sighed out a breath of relief. "Whether you choose to believe it or not, do know that the two of us are very grateful." _

_"Of course, you'll have to work for your food and sleeping quarters."_

_Together, they had said, "Wouldn't have it any other way."_

_They had been picking off icicles when a hand clapped over his mouth. In an instant, his arm was out, ready to snap as he worked on trying to figure out how to aim behind his head. There had been a voice in his ear, and though he couldn't remember what it had said now, he did remember that whatever it had said made him stall and he lowered his hand, much to Full Metal's digress as he started to flip and pound in his own hold._

_He vaguely recalled losing his gloves and both were spiked through the array to become useless before something bit into his shoulder and a moment later he opened his eyes into a white nothingness with Edward hardly awake and shivering._

* * *

His red coat. That had to be it. That was why he was so hot so quickly. He felt like he was in a 3,000 degree oven all of the sudden. The thing was thin and not thick; it wouldn't do him any good to keep it anyway; if anything it was bringing it closer. It was just more harm than good. He had to get colder; the coat was making him too hot to be safe. He had to get it off….

His arms protested as he quickly removed his hands from their hold and he deftly undid the small buttons that had kept it wrapped around him before starting to shrug it off of him.

He recognized the color blue over each of his shoulders and a moment later the coat was pulled snug over him and fastened on the second set of buttons so that it was too tight for him. "S'ay off," he grumbled, pushing Mustang away with his hand again. "Nee' t' ge' ou' 'f m' coat. M'hot!"

Mustang ignored his swats and took his head in his. His hands were cold, but warmer than Ed's skin and felt good. He watched the older man's lips as they moved but he only understood half of what he was saying. "Please… don't die… me… not… child… don't die… Edward! Don't leave… can't… please… keep… coat on… hypothermia… freezing… death… keep on… _don't die!_"

Ed blinked as something landed on his face. For a second it was warm, but it turned bitterly cold and nipped at him an hour later… or maybe a minute… he couldn't tell… a day? Everything seemed so long….

He shook his head, but that also rid him of Mustang's cold-warmth. There was a pause and he felt something lifting up and snagging. Something that felt like a knot pulled at the end of the strings that kept his hoodie up.

* * *

_When he'd woken up, it was because he was shaking from the cold. He just kneeled up and pulled his uniform tighter, knowing that it was constructed the way it was to keep you hot in both the summer and winter time—uncomfortably so in the former condition. But it wouldn't hold out long in a blizzard—especially if this was a Drachma Blizzard; they were fucked over if it was. Then again, at this rate, they were fucked already. _

_He remembered that Ed wasn't wearing his uniform—they didn't have his size (they barely had Roy's size) so he had been able to get off without a uniform. He had to be entering the first stage of hypothermia if Roy was simply _cold_. _

_He looked around. Ed was huddled a few feet away from him, shivering with his eyes clinched shut. Pieces of the hard snow were stuck in his eyelashes and hair and his face had no color whatsoever. It didn't even have a bit of red from the cold. No, that was wrong. Now that he looked, his skin was starting to turn blue and his lips were definitely tinged a baby blue. _

_Ed gave him the hardest look he could and simply screamed "stay away from me! Don't touch me!"_

_Ed couldn't hate him enough that he'd rather _die _of hypothermia than get close enough to try and stay warm, could he? Fuck, where had his ministrations and careful taunts gone so wrong?_

* * *

"S'ay off o' me," he growled the best he could, but his throat hurt and the hood was slightly over his mouth. He was burning up. Why was he so fucking hot? Why wouldn't Mustang let him take off his coat? He was fucking burning! It was just making it worse! It was attracting more heat to him! He needed to get it off! "I said s'ay off me!" He yelled again and pushed at him.

The man cringed in pain and Ed immediately knew what he'd done wrong. No, no! He hadn't meant to hurt him! No! If he'd stayed away like he'd said…! He wouldn't have touched him with his Automail! It was cold enough to give him frostbite with barely a touch! The only thing saving his shoulder from that was the oil that Buccaneer had let him borrow (after he'd shined his Automail for him, but it was worth it)!

That idiot!

Roy slowly lifted his gaze from his stinging hand and clenched it, holding it to his stomach instinctively and relief flooded his face, like he'd done something right instead of hurt him. The man was an idiot! He _hurt _him when he'd touched his hand! He told him not to touch him so he wouldn't get frostbite or even frostnip from him! That _idiot! _

"I told you to _stay away!_" He snapped, though his mind was sluggish and his lips were twice as slow as he spoke. "I don't wanna hurt you!"

Roy shut his eyes for a moment before he opened them again and crawled over to him. He slapped away Ed's human hand as it came up, kneeling beside him and wrapping his arms around the small body.

It unnerved them both that Ed didn't even have the strength to push him away and instead cuddled up to Roy, murmuring, "So cold, so hot" repeatedly.

Either Roy had enough of his sane mind left unbitten by the cold or it had been nipped at just enough to be insane—either way could be true with the way he was shaking with cold—it didn't matter, as he reached down and drew in the hard yet fresh snow a small array.

Ed cuddled up closer to him after the igloo had come up and surrounded them just enough for it to be tall enough for them both and small enough for them both to fit cuddled up as they were now. "Roy."

"Edward?"

"I'm hot." His teeth chattered as he spoke, making his tongue slow as he tried not to bite it and make the words sound right, but it was still there and he hugged the smaller body closer to him.

"I know. We'll be better soon." _I hope_.

"I'm tired."

"Please Ed, don't fall asleep. Not yet. Stay awake just a little while longer. Just until you're cold again."

"But it's hot." He murmured. "I don't like being cold."

"I know. I'm sorry…. Tell me about all those times you were kidnapped."

* * *

Roy held his face in his hands a week later in the ICU wing of West Hospital. Ed's heartbeat rang in his ears and his breathing was even now, but before…. Before, it had all stopped. He didn't know how long it stopped and he didn't know if the body on the bed in front of him was brain dead or not. It was all he could do to keep him alive that he did in the igloo… if the S&R team hadn't found them when they had….

Slowly, he tilted his head so that the side of his face was cradled in his right palm, void of its pyrotex which was in his pocket with its partner at the moment and let the left one lay down by his elbow, shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath.

There was a light pressure on his fingers and he looked down for a moment before he realized that Ed had lifted his hand up to rest on top of his. He followed the human arm up to its body and let his shoulders slump in relief as Ed smiled up at him, gently. "Keep looking so scared and you'll never be Fuhrer."

Roy blinked and forced a small smile at him before letting it fall and shaking his head, shutting his eyes. "Don't _ever _let me watch that again. Do you hear me? Don't make me…."

"Watch what again?"

"Don't make me watch a young man die _ever _again."

"I died?"

"Only very briefly," Roy muttered, still not opening his eyes. "Very, very briefly."

"That's why you were crying." Ed muttered quietly. "I couldn't understand what you were saying. I remember you were crying. I don't remember what you said."

Roy opened his eyes slowly, blinking a few times so that a tear fell out of his left eye, skidding along his cheekbone. "Don't, please."

Ed smiled gently and made a motion with his head for him to stand up. He did, slowly, and felt the man take him by the collar and pull him down, wrapping both his arms around his back—Automail and skin alike. Roy smiled and wrapped his arms around him back, relishing the contact. "I thought you hated me."

"I do hate you."

"I mean more than you trusted me."

"Naw. I hate you, but I trust you too. You're Roy Mustang; it's hard not to be loyal to someone who won't use me as cannon fodder like the others."

"When I first woke up and you screamed at me to stay away, I thought it was because you didn't trust me enough to keep up alive."

"I didn't want to hurt you. My Automail, it-!"

"I know." Roy muttered. "I know about your Automail and how it saps temperature. I know."

Ed smiled and slowly released him, but he noticed that he didn't push him off. He followed the young man's lead soon after. "Normally you're supposed to call a nurse when someone wakes up," Ed chuckled dryly. "Thanks for not."

"For one, it's past midnight, and two I wanted to ask you something before I did."

"What's that?"

"Why do you hate me so much? I understand my name calling and useless banter but your level of it is remarkable. I never noticed it before this."

Ed frowned gently and looked away, turning his head entirely. "Because of what you'll do someday."

"What will I do?"

"You'll throw me away. Just like everyone else. I know I shouldn't care since I hate the Military an' all, but still"—he shrugged—"you'll end up throwing me away and you'll be the only one that will ever be able to do it to my face."

"I'll never throw you away."

"Don't make such bullshit promises."

"I _can't _throw you away, Edward." He murmured quietly and gently turned his head back to him so that he looked into those golden orbs. "I can't throw a single subordinate of mine away, but you especially."

Ed stared up at him for a moment before talking in such a low voice that he almost had a hard time hearing it. "So? In the end, I'll be thrown away. I just know it."

"After you're checked out, how about I take you to lunch."

"Why?"  
"Because I want to."

Ed blinked up at him, finally blushing as he came to an understanding. "You'll find a way to sweet talk me into it anyway, General."

"Rest up, Full Metal."

"Hey, Bastard General?"

"Hm?"

"Are you still cold?"

"Maybe just a little." He admitted and leaned in, pressing their lips together as Ed threw an arm around his shoulders.


	2. 50 Sentences 1

50 Sentences #1

Disclaimer: I do not own RoyEd- or, um, I mean, FMA

Rating: T

Warning: some innuendos!

Author Note (as opposed to summary): I've always kind of wanted to do one of these and I'm just lying here, looking at the ceiling half asleep when I finally go "yeah, ok" and look it up. :) If you like, tell me and I'll think about doing more!

* * *

1 Wheelchair –

Ed realized that the sickest feeling he had ever had was not when he was in his Automail recovery, but when he was forced to sit before a disappointed Mustang in that damned wheelchair because his Automail had put him in the hospital all over again.

2 Racket –

The racket was too much; Roy knew that the voices of those he had killed during Ishval would always follow him, but instead it was the sound of his subordinate's cries of help that had him curled up in the fetal position, and he honestly wasn't sure which side he wanted more.

3 Pore –

Mustang had always known a lot about _Full Metal_, but during _Edward_'s recovery, he realized there was a lot more to him than Full Metal's poring over every book he could get his hands on.

4 Fan –

Edward knew that Mustang had tons and tons of fans that he should be attending to while the morphine began to nibble at the edges of his consciousness and he started to get drowsy enough to lay back, but he couldn't bring himself to care as the older man laid him back and kissed his forehead when he thought that Ed wouldn't remember.

5 Cower –

Edward didn't cower—it just wasn't within his nature—but as the door slammed like a gunshot and the younger man _cowered _from it, he realized the true extent, beyond just the physical, of his pain.

6 Lack –

Before, Edward would have held back his tears as they were a sign of a man's lack of strength, but now he knew they were the sign of their strength as he gave in and cried in Mustang's office in front of the only man not on lunch break.

7 Cocoon –

Edward had always been the one to reach out and hold someone else when they cried, so Roy felt as if he was honoured as Edward turned his face into his shoulder and let him cocoon him in his own arms.

8 Heaven –

For the first time since he was rescued, Edward felt as if he was finally wanted and he realized that was all the heaven he wanted or needed.

9 Hotel –

Roy's house was no hotel, but he felt as if Edward would appreciate it if he offered up the guest room he'd gotten furnished before Maes had gotten married.

10 Talent –

Roy had always been told that Edward was a prodigy with everything he did from Alchemy to reading to talking, but when he came home from work on the other man's day off and saw him on the couch finishing a book, only to turn back to the first page he realized this was not the "talent" everyone believed it to be.

11 See –

As Ed stared at Mustang's profile one night, studying the shape of it all, he silently wondered what it had been like unable to see out of his left eye until Marcoh came back to Central and used the last of his Stone to bring back his vision.

12 Claw –

Roy had always cried after he clawed his way to the surface during his nightmares, and this time was no different, even if Edward was there to hold him this time and tell him it was the past and the present mattered now.

13 Century –

Roy wondered, silently, how long it was he had actually started to have more than just platonic feelings for the young man in his home because it sure felt like centuries as he draped a blanket over his shoulders where he had fallen asleep on the couch again.

14 Limbo –

Ed knew that outwardly, he looked just fine—as if he hadn't gone through what he went through—but inwardly, he wasn't sure if he was in the right place anymore but more than anything else he was positive that Roy knew his feelings better than even himself.

15 Teach –

Teacher had been wrong, Roy realized, because there was no way that he would feel this way about his subordinate; lust was one thing, but he couldn't be _in love _with _Edward _of all people.

16 Glamour—

Edward didn't need the glamour of a State Alchemists' title to get people's attention—all he had to do was walk in the door, and sometimes that was what he hated about himself the most.

17 Hive –

Sometimes, you feel at your loneliest in the middle of a hive—Ed had always known that, but as Roy wrapped his arms around him he felt safe and welcome and at his happiest for the first time in years.

18 Hangover –

"If you desire the girl, Full Metal, then go for her," Mustang had said the night before, and, granted, it may just be the hangover agreeing with his words, he still walked up to the man and yanked him down to press their lips together.

19 Vanilla –

After learning why Edward hates milk, Roy was surprised that his favorite ice cream was vanilla because it "is sweet".

20 Lie –

Edward knew that Roy had to be lying to himself twice as much as he did to others to keep up his mask, but he sure did have one hell of a time ripping apart those lies for the small kernel of truth in it.

21 Princess –

"Well," Roy held back his snicker as he pressed the bloodied rag to Havoc's temple, "If you didn't want him to kill you, why did you call him 'Princess'?"

22 Symbol –

Symbols were everywhere, Roy knew, but until now he had never seen the symbol Edward was for _him_.

23 Quarrel –

Edward knew this was no "lover's quarrel" when he felt the tears start as he stomped out of the house and away from Roy.

24 Front –

Edward was right, Roy realized only after he opened the front door to find the entire street desolate; his true front was the one he held in front of himself to keep himself from falling in love.

25 Focus –

Riza was going to be pissed at him, but he couldn't find enough care in himself as he finally gave up trying to focus on his work when Ed still hadn't come in, even if their fight had been three days ago.

26 Bar –

"You're an idiot," his aunt said as he stared at the bar counter in front of him and all he could say was "I know."

27 Limit –

Roy was at his limit of pain and sorrow when Edward finally walked back inside and straight up to him, only to bury his head in his chest and Roy wasn't the only one crying silently as he muttered "I love you."

28 Wife –

"I'll never be your wife, Roy," Ed declared, but when Roy said "why would I marry _you_?" he couldn't help but throw his head back and laugh.

29 Precious –

There were few times more precious to him than when he could just lay in bed and watch his lover sleeping soundlessly.

30 Are –

The first time they had lived together, they would always knock on the door and ask "are you decent?" or "are you awake?" before they walked in, but now they just walked straight in up to the other without a care in the world.

31 Cold –

Ed shivered for a moment, but he couldn't help but smile as he pulled his coat closer and stepped in the cab with his only thought on the person that would be able to warm him from the snow-cold temperatures.

32 Off –

Ed had almost cried when he opened the door to find a girl all over Mustang, but when Roy pushed her off and told her he was taken, that he wasn't sorry and it was time she left, he had, because the man hadn't even known he was there when it happened.

33 Cherry –

The cherry on top of the entire relationship was that neither one nor the other was more "in power" even if Ed always made Roy top.

34 Neutral –

Neither of them had ever had a neutral territory about anything and even that hadn't changed, even if they had changed their opinions on a lot of things since they had admitted their love for the other.

35 Party –

Ed was no party-goer, but he would go for Roy, he reasoned, as he watched the man stand beside him on the stage with his right hand raised and the left hand on the Amestrian Constitution, repeating after Retired Fuhrer Grumman.

36 Limb –

"I'll go out on a limb here," Roy arched his brow at him with his arms crossed to which Ed blushed, "and say that, judging by the lipstick on your face, you were jumped by a bunch of fan girls," to which Ed shook his head instead and corrected "fan _boys._"

37 Complete –

They didn't complete each other; they still fight with each other more than they don't, but Ed reasoned that he could still _feel _complete whenever they held each other or whenever their lips touched.

38 Serendipity –

Roy knew there was no such thing as luck, but it had to have been serendipity that Edward had been kidnapped and shot repeatedly, even if it was so bad, because that was what allowed him to find the love of his life.

39 Zoo –

Edward loves the zoo, but Roy had never been lucky enough to find out until Ed confessed that as a child they had been so poor because of the government that his mom had to have three jobs just to pay rent and he had taken it upon himself to grow the crops before and after school when Alphonse was stressing over homework so he wouldn't know and never got the time to be a kid.

40 Follow –

Edward was no follower, nor was Roy, but they reasoned that they could follow love down this stupid rollercoaster blindly if they were together.

41 Pal –

"We aren't '_pals_'" Ed heard Roy saying, very sternly, in an almost hateful voice as he walked out of HQ and into the press conference, only to feel as if his heart was breaking until he continued with "we're lovers."

42 Desire –

"How do you desire someone the same sex as you;" Ed shrugged as he reiterated Winry's disgusted question, "it's the same exact way you desire someone the opposite sex."

43 Crib –

When Edward had gotten with Roy, he hadn't known that the man had had a little sister, but he felt horrible that she had died before he had gotten the chance to meet her yet he also felt happy that she had left his lover her daughter to care for as he rocked the crib.

44 Rubbish –

"To say that a homosexual is trash is rubbish," Edward had said to some colleges back in Britain as he sipped tea, back before he had discovered himself to be one and now all he could do was smile at the memory.

45 Bug –

Roy walked into the kitchen as Ed jumped as if startled by something on the windowsill, but when he walked over, all he saw was Edward smiling gently as he watched a small spider struggle against the zephyr blowing inside yet it was him saying "All is one and one is all" that made him smile, too.

46 Harbor –

When Ed had stood at the harbor from England to take him down to France, where he would travel through to Germany, all he could think of was how the water looked like Roy's uniform and how the sky was his hair and eyes.

47 Gorge –

Roy watched the way Ed teetered on the edge but did not walk forward, reach out nor speak as the blond looked down, as if contemplating, then turned away muttering "why you would think that was worth it is beyond me, Roy."

48 Grasp –

"I can't grasp why you would think I'm still that way after loving you," Roy returned and finally held his hand out for the younger man to take, only to pull him close and never let go.

49 Mess –

Ed appeared to have it all under control, but inwardly he had always been a mess up until Roy started to clean it up.

50 Box –

Box after box after box—Ed looked around their new place one more time as he gently bounced Reine before he let out a deep breath and muttered "I have a lot of work to do before he gets home, don't I, baby?"


	3. My Hero

My Hero

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Sadly. Otherwise... well, FMA wouldn't be JUST an action show. It would be an _action_ show.

Rating: K+

Warning: Stupid Fluff

Summary: _My hero is the man that powered me enough to come back to this side without hurting the other._

* * *

"Who's your guys' hero?"

Alphonse's question still lingered in Edward's mind long after they had boarded the train and set off for Central; back for Amestris; back _home_. He knew who the others' heroes were. They were obvious in just the way they spoke or the way they walked or whatever it was that defined the person you idolized enough to call them your "hero".

Noah's would be Alfons Heidrich only because he was a hard working man that somehow always kept those that are important to him closer to his heart and more important in his mind than his work in what he was going to get his name written in history for.

Alfons' (may he rest in peace) would have been Noah because despite being a gypsy and having to live the hard life since before she could remember (or would tell them), she always held her chin high and would never let the sneers of those that passed get to her, no matter how hard or mean they were.

Alphonse's, though, would have to be their mother. He wasn't sure why, but doesn't everyone idolize their parent or parents at some time or another in their life? Some people never grow out of that, right? What sense did it make to not include Alphonse in that category?

Hawkeye would idolize her husband, Jean, because despite being so self-conscious and vain all the time, he did it for himself and no one else. Granted, his feelings were (and probably still are) hurt easily, he never let them keep him down for _too _long and in that sense was stronger than most.

Jean, though, would idolize Hawkeye. On one hand, it would be because she's the only girl that Mustang respects too much to steal away from him while on the other, she was too good for him but still settled for the love and warmth that he gave her that no one else could.

Kain? Kain, Breda and Falman were all hands down Mustang hero-worshippers .For different reasons though, of course. He had heard stories of the Ishval Rebellion where Mustang saved Furey and since then they had done nothing but worked together as a way for Kain to pay him back. Breda because he wanted to—wished he could—go after his dreams like Mustang could do without a simple thought. Falman… well, Falman is Falman; if Mustang isn't his hero, then no one is.

Winry? Winry's hero had to be her mother and father and grandmother, too. Her parents for being there for her when they were and dying doing what they wanted to without being scared by the Military like so many before and after them would have been. And her grandmother for being there now and teaching her the workings of Automail and training her to be a surgeon and so-on and so-forth. Until then, he would have said that Alphonse was another one of her heroes, but he knew better; Alphonse was not her hero. Alphonse was her Love.

What about Trisha, his mother? He didn't even have to think about it to know his father would have been her hero, but for the reasons why, he didn't know—nor did he care to find out.

Mustang's hero was probably Maes. Maes had stuck with him through thick and thin (according to more stories he had heard and, thankfully, never experienced) and had even promised to push him to the top—and made good on it; something neither he nor Mustang knew how to do without being straight-forwardly asked "who do you want to be your Fuhrer?".

Maes, though, when he was alive, his hero was Gracia. There was no doubt that behind all that love and adoration, his hero worshiping had begun the relationship. However, he had no idea how that worked out and had yet to discover how it _could _work. Then again, he wasn't exactly looking.

Gracia? Gracia's was the man that widowed her and she has yet to get over enough to stop wearing the wedding ring. Honestly, Ed didn't want her to get over it enough so that she would, because a love that dear and that sweet deserved to be eternal and for it to end would be like chocolate to seize to exist.

Elysia's was her mother or Edward…. No, Elysia's was her mother, because Ed was no hero to anyone nor did he deserve to be. He just wasn't Hero-Quality. Her mother, though, was Gracia Hughes and there's no excuse as to why you _wouldn't _see her as a hero. She couldn't be met and _not _idolized as somewhat of a higher being.

So, then, who was his? His brother? No. His mother? No. His father? Definitely not_?_ Alfons? No, if he had to ask, then they wouldn't—couldn't—be his hero.

So… what _is _a hero?

A hero is someone who saves someone from a burning building; who has the courage to play to half a million people; who makes shots in games to win; who steps on the moon; someone who makes balloon rides half way across the world and then the other half just for the heck of it.

_A hero is someone who doesn't exist_, Ed finally decided and turned around to go back inside the caboose of the train. He followed the aisle up the train end to the booth he was sharing with Alphonse, Noah and the two Havocs on their way back home. Silently, he took his seat beside the window and turned to look out of it without another word.

"Ok, brother," Al said as soon as he was looking away. "What's your answer?"

"Answer for what, Al?"

"Who's your hero? Here, I'll even do a recap: mine's you or maybe mom but definitely you, Hawkeye- sorry, _Mrs. Havoc's, _is Jean, and Jean's is Riza while Noah's is Alfons. Alright, your turn."

_My hero is the man that powered me enough to come back to this side without hurting the other._

"I don't have one," he answered. "Hero's are people who don't exist, nine out of ten percent of the time. So I have decided to spare myself from being like another one of those ninety percent of people and have declared myself hero-less."

However, as soon as he was in Mustang's office for the first time in six years with the man's arms around him, he realized that there was no use in denying it.

"You."

"Excuse me?

_My hero is the one man who made it possible for me to hold your flesh in my arms again, Al. My hero is the man I argue with so much that it's infuriating. My hero is the man that pisses me off so easily because he just _feels _like it. My hero is the man who can get under my skin with nothing but a breath. My hero is the man who I argue with just to vent the amount of rage I have at myself at._

_My hero is…_

_My hero is Roy Mustang, Lieutenant General._

"My hero is you, Mustang. You're the one that saved my life and without you, I would be nothing. Thank you. My hero is you."

"Where is this coming from, Ed?"

"Don't know; don't care." He muttered and shut his eyes as he took in a deep, dark breath of the man before him. "But you're someone's hero, _Roy. _You're mine. Granted, that doesn't mean much in the terms of the world, you are my hero, and I won't stop saying it. Thank you, for saving my life."

"When did I ever save it?"

"When haven't you?" Was all he could say before he tilted his head so that his forehead was against the man's neck cords and he was sleeping soundly; like a bird in a tree; like a man in a bed; like a man who had finally found home in the arms of his lover-to-be.

Like a man in the arms of his Hero, who now, to this day, does not believe himself worthy of being called "hero", even if he is, was and forever will be recognized as one in Ed's heart for the good things and not the bad. The bad, Ed would learn to live with as Roy would he, but until then, Roy moved them to the couch and they slept silently in each other's embrace for hours.

Until Riza Havoc stormed in, declared Fuhrer Grumman to be there, and Mustang awoke to the nasty joke that it was.


	4. If only You were Mine

If only You were Mine

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Sadly. Even if it does make me cry. Or maybe it's the story.

Rating: T

Summary: _Face it… you're going to die alone. Not like I didn't already know that._

Note: Thank you to all that have reviewed! Especially those that review each chapter! You know who you are!

* * *

A lone figure walked the streets silently and let out a deep breath as he prepared to do this. _It won't be that hard, _his mind told him again as he turned onto the street he knew centimeter-by-centimeter, yard-by-yard and house-by-house. He was nearly there; nearly ready to get there and tell him—tell him the truth.

As he neared the house, his heart beat louder in his ears and his feet faltered, walking down the street in a quieter, more serene fashion. He was just out for a stroll, he had to remind himself as he moved slower than an old man with a walker. _You can do this, Ed. Remember what you're going to say._

_Just say… Say… 'I'm tired of waiting' or something or 'We need to talk'. I might as well just scream out 'I love you' and run away like the kicked puppy I am. _He took a deep breath and stilled outside a house that might as well have a white picket fence to show how out-of-the-ordinary it really was from the other cookie cutter houses that should have a white picket fence on the street. _Ok. This is what you're going to do. You'll walk up, knock, ask if you can talk, _not chicken out, _and if yes, confess, if no... say you- you understand, smile and walk away and act like nothing happened._

Still, the thought of the negative answer made his chest clench until he couldn't breathe and the feeling of fear that crept throughout his body wasn't entirely unfounded as he swallowed down the bile in his throat as he pulled out his pocket watch and looked at the time, ignoring what he had inscribed on the cover years ago; years before; years before everything had changed; years before he had died and gone to Germany and years before he had died again and came back to Amestris.

_9:32 _he read without a moment's hesitation. The moment he read it, his mind tried to correct him and say it was 2132 hundred hours, but it didn't matter because he wasn't at work and the fall-winter night had fallen a long time ago. At the thought of it, he pulled his jacket closer while he also slid the silver-colored metal into his pocket. He walked on, passing the house completely.

_It doesn't matter. He's not home. I'll do it tomorrow._

* * *

"Nisan."

Ed gave Al a warm smile. "Yeah?"

Al just watched him for a moment before smiling back gently and shaking his head. "Sweet dreams, nisan."

He almost found it alarming how quickly he read his mind. "Yeah, g'night, Al."

Behind him, he could have sworn he'd heard him mutter and stopped to turn and ask "did you say something?" Al only shook his head at him and said "No, no. Don't let the bed bugs bite!"

Ed nodded back the same and turned around. It wasn't like he had actually heard him say 'better luck tomorrow' right?

_If only I can make him _mine_!_

* * *

Ed walked the streets silently and let out a deep breath as he prepared to do this. _It won't be that hard, _his mind told him again as he turned onto the street he knew centimeter-by-centimeter, yard-by-yard and house-by-house. He was nearly there; nearly ready to get there and tell him—tell him the truth.

As he neared the house, his heart beat louder in his ears and his feet faltered, walking down the street in a quieter, more serene fashion. He was just out for a stroll he had to remind himself as he moved slower than an old man with a walker. _You can do this, Ed. Remember what you're going to say._

_Just say… Say… 'I'm tired of waiting' or something or 'We need to talk'. I might as well just scream out 'I love you' and run away like the kicked puppy I am. _He took a deep breath and stilled outside a house that might as well have a white picket fence to show how out-of-the-ordinary it really was from the other cookie cutter houses that should have a white picket fence on the street. Tonight, though, just like every other night, a light shown through a window on the upper story, but this time, he almost swore he saw someone, even if he knew he didn't.

_Ok. This is what you're going to do. You'll walk up, knock, ask if you can talk, __**not chicken out**_, _and if yes, confess, if no... say you understand, smile and walk away and act like nothing happened._

Still, the thought of the negative answer made his chest clench until he couldn't breathe and the feeling of fear that crept throughout his body wasn't entirely unfounded as he swallowed down the bile in his throat as he pulled out his pocket watch and looked at the time, ignoring what he had inscribed on the cover years ago; years before; years before everything had changed; years before he had died and gone to Germany and years before he had died again and came back to Amestris.

_9:32 _he read without a moment's hesitation. The moment he read it, his mind tried to correct him and say it was 2132 hundred hours, but it didn't matter because he wasn't at work and the fall-winter night had fallen a long time ago. At the thought of it, he pulled his jacket closer while he also slid the silver-colored metal into his pocket. He walked on, passing the house completely.

_It doesn't matter. He's not home. I'll do it tomorrow._

* * *

"Nisan…."

Ed gave a jolt and looked up to where Al was sitting on the couch with a book in his hand, looking disappointed. He glanced at the clock for a moment before he turned to face the older blond again. At length, Al let out a gentle smile and said "Sweet dreams, nisan."

"Yeah," he nodded his head as he discarded his jacket onto the hat rack, not bothering with the hanger for the night. There was already a lump in it from hanging there to dry on past nights. It wouldn't get any larger or anything. "G'night Al."

He walked down the hall after toeing off his shoes. He heard the echo of a murmur from his little brother as he muttered "I hope you have better luck tomorrow." In that moment, he turned around and back out of the hall to ask "Did you say something?"

Al just smiled, shook his head and said "no, no. Don't let the bed bugs bite!"

He said the same thing back and turned around. He was no idiot and he knew that Al _had _said that, but all he could be thankful for was that he hadn't admitted to it. Because, honestly, saying he had been doing this for a while was a lie. Eight and a half months is _hardly _two years! It's not _that _long!

Still, when he got to his room, he fell down on the bed, punched it hard with both hands a few times and finally let his eyes give out as he met his breaking point.

_What was he doing up there tonight with the lights on? If only I can make him _mine_!_

* * *

Ed walked the streets silently and let out a deep breath as he prepared to do this. _It won't be that hard, _his mind told him again as he turned onto the street he knew centimeter-by-centimeter, yard-by-yard and house-by-house. He was nearly there; nearly ready to get there and tell him—tell him the truth.

As he neared the house, his heart beat louder in his ears and his feet faltered, walking down the street in a quieter, more serene fashion. He was just out for a stroll he had to remind himself as he moved slower than an old man with a walker. _You can do this, Ed. Remember what you're going to say._

_Just say… Say… 'I'm tired of waiting' or something or 'We need to talk'. I might as well just scream out 'I love you' and run away like the kicked puppy I am. _He took a deep breath and stilled outside a house that might as well have a white picket fence to show how out-of-the-ordinary it really was from the other cookie cutter houses that should have a white picket fence on the street. Tonight, though, unlike every other night, no lights shown through any windows on the upper or lower story.

He paid it no heed until he heard his name being said from nearly right in front of him. He jumped clearly five feet and looked to where Roy, dressed in a rain coat and hat, was walking up to him like it was nothing. "Mustang?" He asked, startled, and looked back down to the watch in his hand. It was 9:32, like always, but why was he out of his house? He's never out of his house! He _always _has one of those slut one-night-stands by now on the bed instead of him.

_Not that I wouldn't mind being a one-night-stand, so long as that was what he wanted._

"What are you doing outside of my house?"

"Checking the time," he instantly pointed out and slid the already soaking wet watch into his pants. It had started raining a few minutes into the walk but he hadn't had the guts to go back inside his apartment to get a slicker when moments before he had declined the one from Al.

"Why on my street?"

"Because it's where my boyfriend lives."—The moment that Mustang's eyes widened, he felt his cheeks heat a million times hotter—the fact that the rain against his cheeks making it feel even hotter than that didn't help. _Shit, I said that out loud?_

Mustang looked like he had been drinking enough for a buzz but not enough to not remember this in the morning. Being that inebriated, it made it hard to read the emotion in his eyes as his eyebrows arched up and fixed themselves under his hairline.

He could, however, notice it was either disappointed or disgusted.

"What?"

Disgusted—it had to be; that was the only thing that made sense.

"U-Uh… my boyfriend lives on this street," he repeated, this time going so far as to bite his lip and look away before he turned back and clarified, "Well, he's not _actually _my boyfriend _officially_, but we still… you know… um… this is really embarrassing to talk about." _Since when have lies become this easy?_

"Oh."

"Well, later." And Ed bypassed the man in his hurry to get away. The rain fell heavier now, but he could still feel Mustang's gaze on the back of his neck, making his stomach turn in a way that made him want to curl into a ball and cry. He might as well be doing the latter; he couldn't tell if he was from how hard the rain was falling.

And there it was, that tiny, almost inexistent, inaudible murmur of "I can't believe _he's _a fucking _flaming faggot". _Ed wasn't sure if it was his mind taking on Mustang's voice to say the most logical thing for him to say before he was kicked out of the Military for something stupid like stealing from Hawkeye (because he would _really _do that) and he forced himself to disappear. Maybe he could cross the Garkyu-ah Ocean to that New Gramaick place that's been getting a little more popular these past few years and start all over again over there.

Yeah. That would do. Because that's the farthest he can get from Mustang without any communication at all _or _platonic thoughts.

_Face it, _he told himself as he glanced over his shoulder to make sure Mustang had gone inside so he wouldn't have to pretend to go up to some stranger's door and knock, _you're going to die alone._

_Not like I didn't already know that._

* * *

He dragged his feet on the still-soaked sidewalk, watching the way they disturbed the constantly-disturbed puddles that had formed from where the water had flooded over most of the street. He probably should have gone inside an hour ago—the time he usually went inside—but he couldn't seem to get himself to go up the steps and inside yet.

He looked up in time to see the crosswalk he was going to take to get back home switched and a man already half way across the street. He hurried his footsteps and made to run out through the street when something hard pulled him back, tugged him onto the sidewalk and pressed him against the wall. Tires squelched sickeningly and water splash everywhere to the point where even his face got smacked from the ice cold water.

The car had stopped half-over the crosswalk and had narrowly missed the man that was already in the street and he would have been where it is now; he would be pinned under that car right now, nearly dead and drowning had this person not saved him.

He looked up at his savior to see Mustang's wide eyes looking down at him, startled, and even the color of them seemed breathless.

"I have no _fucking _idea why _the hell _I would be saving a fucking flamer like you, but feel lucky that I did."

Ed didn't care that the man wouldn't want it; he couldn't handle it anymore. He reached up and cupped his neck in his hands and pulled him down, hard. Moments before their lips touched, though, he fell into a desperate, hacking cough until all he saw before him was the crimson on the uniform on his chest.

Reality snapped back into place and he struggled, one last, futile time against the car. The man that had nearly been hit was in the phone booth over there, looking panicked, but the driver of the car was over him, pressing his hands into where a piece of metal from the car's hood had ripped off and plunged itself into his gut. He was careful not to jostle it as the man ran out from the phone and yelled that an ambulance would be there ASAP.

The scariest part of this all was that being impaled hadn't even hurt; was that being impaled still didn't hurt.

He coughed, hard, splattering rain water and blood over his chin, chest and the other man's arm before it happened again and again. Eventually, after his chest hurt, his eyes sparkled and his heart felt like it wasn't in pain anymore, he managed to croak "thank you."

"Thank you?" An unfamiliar voice yelled. "I ran you over and you're _thanking me_? Just hang on a little while longer and the ambulance will be there! Take deep, even breaths. What's your blood type? You'll need a transfusion at this rate!"

"O," he said, and smiled through the pain, showing where his blood had stained his teeth. "And thank you for not… not leaving me… me to… die…." He felt consciousness slipping away. Another hard pound on his stomach and his lungs expunged a few more pints of blood from him as another voice yelled "Damn it, boss, hang on!"

By then it was too late.

* * *

Sobbing. That was what brought him back to the surface. It was someone's sobbing that sounded a good deal like Al's and his chest felt wet for some reason as he took in a long, strained breath. His lungs hurt, pleading with him to shut up and just let them do their job and he left it to that as he croaked "Al?"

His brother's head snapped up and he saw where the tears started up again, this time his eyes obviously much redder and much warmer; much more joyful.

"You're alive. Thank Alchemy, you're alive nisan! When- when you didn't come home, I thought- I thought that you had finally said it, but- but then Havoc called and said- said you had been run over by some notorious drunk or something. Are you ok? Are you hurt? Do you need anything? Anything, nisan, just ask!"

"Could you stop yelling." He deadpanned.

Al smiled and nodded as he winced and reached up, wiping the tears from his face. "You look more shaken up than I feel."

"Havoc said you were thanking the guy who ran you over when he got out of the phone booth. I thought you wanted to die; I thought something went bad. _Why _would you thank him?"

He blinked a few times and searched his memory, trying to remember what had put him in here. He remembered a metal beam, a car, water—lots of water, colder than ice to the touch—and two men. Havoc and that drunk. What happened? Oh, yeah…. "I was thanking him for not leaving me to die. Sorry for the delay; I was trying to remember."

"Brigadier General Mustang was in here earlier," Al pointed out as he wiped his own eyes. "He said that you had talked that night. What did you say?"

"I made an idiot of myself and said I had a boyfriend before immediately saying I didn't. I just sort of walked off after that. What do you mean 'that night'?"

"Nisan…. You've been out for two and a half weeks. The doctors were getting ready to declare you dead and pull the plug. Oh- I have to go tell them you're awake."  
"Bring me back some ice. My throat hurts." Al nodded before he nearly ran out of the room. He had no doubt he was the moment the door closed.

_Why would Mustang visit a _flaming faggot _like me? _He wondered.

Almost as if by magic, the door opened again and Mustang walked in. He looked relieved to see him awake and gave him the first smile he had ever seen off his face that moment. "How do you feel?"  
_I'm not repeating myself in my own head._

"S-Sore," he grunted and winced as he tried to sit up. Mustang pushed him down and he gave him a bad look before trying to kick his feet up, except that it took too much effort for someone who lost nearly all their blood and had hospital corners keeping his feet down.

"Lay down and rest. You died briefly out there."

He recognized the look in the man's eyes and stilled. He was… he looked ashamed and disappointed. _It must be because I'm still alive. That's the only excuse. Why else would he look like that after finding out I'm homosexual?_

"What's with the look, Ed?"

"N-Nothing," he shook his head. "Why do you look ashamed and disappointed?" _Go ahead. Say it. Say it's because you wish I hadn't survived. Say it's because I'm disgusting and should be Dishonorably Discharged. Go ahead; _call _me what we _both_ know you _want_ to_!

"I'm ashamed because if I had just held you back for a minute—just one—I could have stopped you from being run over. I could have kept you out if this entire thing."

He wanted to tell himself that it was a lie, because there was _no way _Mustang would be saying that to him; no way that he would mean it. But… still, he felt, as he laid there beneath him, that he was telling the truth. He felt a touched smile pull at his lips and squashed it down. Mustang just felt guilty for calling him that and him being run over. _He _probably heard the story about him thanking that guy and probably thinks he's suicidal, too.

"Continue."

"You're milking this."

"_C'mon, _I'm not going anywhere."

"I'm not going to tell you why I'm disappointed."

"I _will_ kick you. I'm not useless. Tell me."

"Why do you want to know?"

"You're the one that's disappointed."

"You won't believe me anyway so what's the point?"

"Try me."

"I'm disappointed that you have a boyfriend."

"I _told _you-"

"Are interested in someone, whatever. You're annoying."

_In someone? You mean 'in a man'. I just know it. You're disgusted that I like men, aren't you?_

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

Ed stared up at him for a moment before he shut his eyes and relaxed back into the bed. "I'm just tired." Within moments, he felt Roy shaking him, trying to wake him when the door opened.

"Oh, he fell asleep again?" Al asked.

He didn't say anything, but Ed was certain that he nodded. "Do you know what's wrong with him?"  
"You mean other than being impaled by a faulty machine?" Al joked.

"I mean emotionally."

"Why?"

"He was crying."

The silence was heavy as he felt Al's hands take his thin blanket and move it up over his shoulders. "No," Al lied for him. "No, nothing is wrong." He smiled as he fell over the edge, back into unconsciousness.

Because of that, he did not hear Al say "but nothing's right either."

* * *

Ed limped, slowly, down the street before he turned back around and went back inside. Al was at school so he didn't know that he was out and about and pushing himself, so he was free to walk into the bathroom and puke from the pain and over exertion. He sat there for a while before he flushed and washed his mouth out a few times.

He couldn't make it to his bedroom to lay down and settled for spreading himself out on the hardwood in the living room. The flat surface made his back feel better and he took a few breaths to calm his stomach. His head felt like it was spinning and that didn't help his gag reflex, but still, he managed to calm down as he shut his eyes and forced himself _not _to gag.

The door opened and he strained to hear Al as he walked in. He moved into where he heard something like the ice chest opening and the gentle pad of feet until he felt something like ice wrapped in a rag press on his forehead. He groaned deep in his throat and grumbled "thanks".

Except, it wasn't Al's voice that asked "Why are you on the floor?"

He opened his eyes to see the black cloth from the rag. There was a moment where he contemplated moving it before he shut his eyes and ignored it. It took too much energy to talk, let alone move his arms. "It makes my back feel better. 'Ve go' back problems."

"Like what?"

"Ah, cronic pain, mostly. Nothing other than that. Had scoliosis, but my friend from Xing used her Alkahestry and reset it normally. Pain's decreased. It's supposed to completely disappear in a few months. Stop letting me talk."

"Well, you just answered all my questions in two breaths, so I think I'll let you continue talking."

"What are you doing here in the first place, Brigadier General?"

"If Al asks, I'm hiding from Hawkeye."

"But _I _asked."

"I wanted to make sure you're alright."

"What's with you and my welfare?"

"Well, when your subordinate walks by your house night after night for nine months and suddenly gets hit by a car, you can talk to me."

He fell silent and blinked into the rag. _Sure, this is the only time he won't mention my liking a man. Why the _hell _are you torturing me by avoiding that? Just say it already—fucking _say it_!—say I'm a flaming faggot. _"What are you talking about?"

"Don't lie. You walk by every night at nine thirty and check your watch every time right outside my lawn. You idle for a few minutes and you walk away. It's annoying. The only reason I caught you the day I did was because I am tired of it."

"I don't do it every day."

"You have for the last six months. It started out weekly and it went every other day and _now_ it's daily."

There was a silence and had he been standing, his shoulders would have slumped. "You really noticed it? Every night?"

"It's hard not to. You kind of stand out." _Because I'm gay, right? You've known for a while now, is that it? Is that why you haven't spat on me yet? _"Your hair and your watch catch in the streetlight."

"I didn't realize- ah, shit, my stomach." He groaned and with one hand pushed up the rag and with the other touched his skin. He lifted it up and felt the world spin as his hand was covered in blood. He moved to get up when he felt the rag being shifted again and Mustang's voice told him "Where are your gauze?"

"In the bathroom."

"Where's your bathroom?"

"Hall… right… first door."

Within seconds he was being lifted up into a sitting position and he quickly undid the buttons on his shirt (since his tee was too hard to put on without puking from pain). He managed to get the shirt off before the world spun again and he grabbed onto the first thing he could. Mustang didn't seem at all hindered at having his shoulder rested against as the bloodied gauze was removed from his stomach and his wound cleaned. Slowly, he redid it, his hands moving slowly across his skin.

"How do you feel now?"

"Diz…zy." He mumbled.

"Take a few deep breaths. Don't fight me on this, either."

Slowly, he let his body take over for him until he lost all balance and leaned completely on him. "Why are you crying?"

"I'm not." He snapped.

"Edward."

"_Don't _call me that," he demanded. His chest gave a hard, burning squeeze.

"Ed…?"

"I'm serious; _don't_."

He felt the man take his chin and tilt his head up so that they were looking at each other, forcibly. "Edward, why are you crying?"

"Don't call me that."

"Why? It's your name."

"Just don't."

"Ed, who was that boyfriend you were talking about before?"

"I told you-"

"You know what I mean."

"It's not important-" he felt his breath hitch in his throat and his eyes shut as he pressed back against the lips against his.

"Ed," Roy, this time, not Mustang, muttered, "Why are you crying?"

"Why?"

"I want to know."

"No, why did you kiss me?"

"I-" Roy faltered. His face was flushed from embarrassment and Ed couldn't help but smile and bite his lip under it. He couldn't remember ever hearing him stutter, either. "I'm not really sure. I just… I wanted to so I…."

"You won't call me one then," he muttered, quietly, and curled into a comfortable ball inside his chest.

"Call you what? A fag?" When he gave no response, he felt Roy's hand on the back of his head, holding him against him. "You're an idiot if you ever thought I would call you that. I thought you don't care what others think about you."

"I don't," he muttered, quietly. "I care about what _you _think, though."

"I would never call anyone something just because of their sexuality. Especially since I'm the same way. It just caught me off guard when you admitted it outwardly. You've always acted straight."

"Look who's talking, _Roy_." He smiled as he settled against his chest happily.

* * *

"Hey, Nisan," Al's voice woke him up a few seconds later. Granted, he knew it wasn't _seconds, _but still…. "Nisan, wake up."

"Mmm, what is it, Al? I'm _comfortable._"

"Nisan, I have a date tonight, I just wanted you to know."

"Are you planning on coming back tonight?"

"Hopefully not."

"Ok. Have fun. Sleep time."

"Nisan, what are we doing tonight?"

"Nothing. _You're _going on a date. _I'm _going to sleep._"_

"Alright, just making sure you're paying attention."

"Tell Kamisha I say hi."

"How about no. I'm not going to tell the girlfriend that originally liked nisan that he says _hi_. And I don't think that Brigadier General can feel his legs."

He opened his eyes and lifted his head to see that he was lying on Roy's lap, facing the rest of the living room.

"Really, Alphonse, it's fine."

"See, Al, it's fine." Ed mocked as he rolled over and shoved his face into his stomach. Roy's hand rested on his head and he pulled his knees up.

"Nisan, will you be fine here alone?"

"Not alone. Roy's here."

There was a silence as he established, "the two of you together only count as one person."

"_Thanks, Al." _He groaned. "Go, go. You have another class and then your date. Bye."

"Bye, nisan. Bye, Brigadier General."

He waited for the door to shut before muttering, "if you get hungry, feel free to the kitchen. Please; Al will kill me when he realizes tomorrow I'm not hungry."

"Well, he'll kill both of us at this rate. Anyway, why don't you get more comfortable in your bed and I'll get you your pain pills and some water?"

"Because _that _requires moving."

He snorted and felt himself be pushed off his lap instantly. He chuckled, ruefully, at the loss of warmth until he rolled on his back, only to see him leaning over him with two pills in one hand and a cup of water in the other. He sighed and sat up to take them both, muttering a quick thanks.

Roy helped him limp to his bedroom (more like forced him to) and he crawled into bed before he took hold of his waist and toppled him over.

Insecurities be damned. "I- uh…."—_Just say… Say… 'I'm tired of waiting' or something or 'We need to talk'. I might as well just scream out 'I love you' and run away like the kicked puppy I am._

"What is it, Ed?"

"Nothing."

He felt a hand rest, gently, on his head, holding him down against his chest. Despite himself, he felt himself smile—"I love you."

Yeah. He could laugh right now if he wasn't so happy.

He nodded and muttered "I love you too."

And, just between he and you, he wasn't sure if the heart beat in his ear was his, Roy's or both of theirs.

* * *

Ed jerked awake and looked around the room from where he had fallen asleep on the hardwood floor. There was a note on the table over him and he reached up to grab it. Al was just writing to tell him that he had a date and wouldn't be back until tomorrow morning—hopefully—and for him to take his medicine and not forget to eat; "those pills give you weird dreams when you don't eat, remember?".

He shut his eyes and let his head fall back to where he had fallen asleep earlier. Of course Roy hadn't come; of course he had dreamed it. It made sense.

He forced himself up onto his feet. His stomach gave a hard knife of pain and he looked down to see his shirt getting red with the color of his life. He sighed and let out a groan as he went into the bathroom to fix it up, forcing the image of Mustang doing it in his dream out of his mind. He was never here in the first place, so what should it matter?

He finished and moved to the kitchen to eat a sandwich and take his pain medication. Moments later he found himself on his bed, snuggled under the covers. Still, the tears leaked from his eyes as he muttered to the empty room "_Why _can't I make you _mine_?"


	5. 50 Sentences 2

50 Sentences #2

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. :( it's a very depressing thought.

Rating: T

Summary: Ed loves Roy, but he's getting married. Onesided!Ed/Roy Onesided!Riza/Roy

Note: I'm sorry this is late. I have another story to post sometime today or tomorrow and am working on another to post this weekend as well to make up for it.

* * *

**Walking**

Ed had vowed to never stop walking before his Automail recovery had even finished but that didn't mean that he always _wanted _to.

**Waltz**

As a boy, Roy had learned to waltz from his father; as a child, Ed had learned from books—and there wasn't a moment that went by as he stood on the sidelines, watching, that he wasn't jealous of the woman and her partner's graceful moves because there was no way he could move like that, too, with or without Roy as his partner.

**Wishes**

Ed often has to wish for the strength to move on—especially every time that he remembers Mustang is straight and there was no way he would be kept on their team once they found out how bent he was.

**Wonder**

Havoc often wondered when it would be; when Ed would muster up the balls to tell the team what he—the most homophobic person there was—already knew.

**Worry**

Riza often worried over the man; he was young and shouldn't know how to care for himself as well as he does, but nevertheless he took everything in stride—including Mustang's engagement to another woman.

**Whimsy**

Ed realized only after the second sip of his beer that Havoc inviting him out to drinks that same night, apart from everyone else, hadn't been a fleeting whim and the smile that touched his face was the warmest it had been in a long time as he realized this man didn't care.

**Waste/Wasteland**

Ed supposed that getting wasted that night had been exactly what he needed as he noticed the couple kissing outside their apartment and reminded him of his dilemma; that reminded him of the love that was getting away.

**Whiskey and Rum**

The choice between whiskey and rum had been a hard one and in the end it was the letter on the rest of his mail that morning that had made the decision for him.

**War**

"Boss," Havoc's voice called his attention and he turned from where he stood, waiting for the train, to where the man walked forward and tilted his head "isn't this train for the warfront" but Ed was certain that it was his answer that was more unnerving than the question; he nodded and stepped forward as it pulled into the station.

**Weddings**

Roy wouldn't be able to have his wedding when he was missing his Best Man and best friend; he had talked to Mariselle and they had agreed to wait for their call to war to end and for them to come home before the wedding.

**Birthday**

Ed's birthday had come and gone on the battlefield—it had been the day he watched Havoc get shot in the chest and fall down as they were talking about why he liked Mustang.

**Blessing**

With all the blood the man had lost, Ed was positive it had been a blessing from some form of deity that existed somewhere out there that Havoc had cracked his eye open hours after his last-minute surgery and continued on with his sentence like nothing had happened.

**Bias**

It may have been his own personal bias, but watching Havoc return home in heavy gauze made Roy realize how much more that man deserved to have taken the train than the woman from Xing who wanted no more than a new life.

**Burning**

The smell of burning flesh was what awoke Ed, only for him to find that a great deal of his side was on fire from where the last bomb had exploded as he pushed Hawkeye—who had been sent in Havoc's stead—out of the way.

**Breathing**

If he was going to survive loosing so much of him, he had to control his breathing but it seemed that the longer he lay there, paralyzed, the less he could do just that.

**Breaking**

His life had hit the breaking point as he realized that this pain was better than the pain Mustang caused him and he let his eyes slide shut, envying it for the past few moments of his life as it was released from his hands, flowing as soft as silk—just like Hawkeye's hands as they fisted in his chest and she screamed his name.

**Belief**

"Thank God you're alive Edward," someone's voice cried in his ear and it didn't bother him at all as the guilt swept him at his shatei's* voice.

**Balloon**

"Life's a balloon," Havoc laughed and rolled his eyes as he fell back in his chair, relaxing "I've just yet to figure out why."

**Balcony**

The hospital he was at wasn't known to the Military; he was safe here with Al and Havoc knowing his whereabouts while everyone was at the office scared shitless—because that way, as he looked over the balcony into the pastured distance, he would know that on some level Mustang did care for him.

**Bane**

"Mustang's the bane of my existence," Ed would always say, but the fact that Havoc knew otherwise was what made it useless.

**Quiet**

They were both quiet on Havoc's birthday—Ed and he—but Havoc knew it had everything to do with Mustang and not with him.

**Quirks**

"I thought you were homophobic," Ed pointed out, but it was when Havoc nodded and said what he said next that made his eyes fill with tears; "that doesn't mean you don't deserve a chance at happiness."

**Question**

"Why have you been here for me this entire time, Havoc" Ed asked, quietly, no louder than a whisper to which Havoc shrugged and admitted "You're in love."

**Quarrel**

Edward would never admit it, but the fight he had had with Mustang the day he had shown up at work after his month-long absence was what took most of the life out of him—moreso than the fact that he could no longer trust himself.

**Quitting**

Havoc sat next to Ed at the bar and nudged his side a little to get his attention; "Quitting won't do you any good—that's what Hughes said to me when Mustang stole the twelfth girl from me and I've only ever had twelve girlfriends."

**Jump**

Mustang was the kind of man that when he said 'jump' people would ask 'how high' but when Havoc reported to him one morning and not Mustang, he could see the latter question in his eyes.

**Jester**

"I'm no court jester," Havoc said, and his country-boy accent was thick and obvious as he muttered to the sky "I'm just a guy who knows what you're going through."

**Jousting**

"Really now—you feel you've been speared through the heart with a jousting spear—or whatever they call them—too?"

**Jewel**

Edward wasn't someone you could foul easily so when Mustang's fiancée walked in, he had known instantly the jewel of the man's life would be the diamond cutting his apart.

**Just**

"I was about your age," Havoc explained as they ate their lunch on the HQ's rooftop, away from where the bustle was so they could be alone, "maybe a little younger, when I proposed to her but it turned out she had been cheating on me the entire time and was already engaged to someone else."

**Smirk**

Ed smirked as he swallowed his small bite and muttered "no rest for the wicked, huh?"

**Sorrow**

It was when Ed had found Hawkeye bawling her eyes out in the park on his way home that he realized he wasn't the only one losing the love of their life.

**Stupidity**

"He's always been a stupid man," Riza cried softly into his shoulder, "but before now he's always been _my _stupid man."

**Serenade**

The bedclothes' soft serenade only sounded in Hawkeye's apartment hours after she had cried herself to sleep in the park and Ed had gotten the courage to carry her home.

**Sarcasm**

"No, Full Metal, I really love _you_," Mustang rolled his eyes to which Ed scowled, scoffed, and slammed the door shut behind him—not because he said it, but because he didn't mean it and never would.

**Sordid**

Havoc and Hawkeye betrayed Mustang's order to not follow Edward and not to let him back into the outer office for the rest of the week—that was nothing new—but it was when the latter turned to him, glared, and slammed the door behind her that he realized how sordid the order had been.

**Soliloquy**

"I wonder when Macbeth's soliloquy will come," Ed muttered as he was told the order the other man had said; "It won't be much longer now until the end of the play, after all."

**Sojourn**

Ed shut his eyes and remembered Germany before he wondered why he had only made it sojourn; _why didn't I stay?_

**Share**

Ed met Mariselle two days before hers and Mustang's wedding and he knew that there would be no sharing here—he had already known, granted, but this just solidified it.

**Solitary**

Ed had wondered if his promotion to Lieutenant Colonel (because of the war, sadly) would put him alone, but the moment immediately after it, Havoc handed him his and Hawkeye's transfer papers simply saying "it's not worth being under him anymore."

**Nowhere**

He didn't want to leave Mustang stranded and neither did the other two so they agreed _together _that they would boost him for the top, even if no one knew and even if he never found out—because they liked it that way.

**Neutral**

Ed had kept his face neutral any time he had met with anyone else from his old office years after his promotion but it was definitely the hardest on him to see the other two the same exact way any time Mustang showed up.

**Nuance**

The blond could see every little thing on Mustang's coat from where he sat in the pews closest to the back of the Church.

**Near**

He wanted nothing more than to go up to him and clean him off—in more ways than one.

**Natural**

"It's natural to feel this way around someone you love," Hawkeye told him, honestly, but he couldn't tell if it was for his sake or hers.

**Horizon**

The doors opened in the back and they turned to watch was their sun of hope begun to set over the horizon.

**Valiant**

It had taken a lot to muster up the courage and say "congrats but you're still a jackass" when the engagement had been announced and looking back he truly saw himself as a hero—because at least then he was able to speak to the man of his dreams.

**Virtuous**

Ed wasn't very virtuous yet still, as he waited there, he became more and more patient—only because he couldn't admit to himself that Mustang's near-devastation was making him hopeful.

**Victory**

Victory slipped from both his and Hawkeye's grasp as their knees locked and the Minister asked "Does anyone object to this union?"

**Defeat**

"I do."

* * *

*shatei : little brother (it's like aniki, only for little and not older)


	6. Death Letter

Death Letter

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Sadly. Even if it does make me cry. Or maybe it's the story.

Rating: T

Summary: The last few paragraph are stained by fear. Fear of death, fear of leaving the world without just means but, most of all, fear of leaving without being heard. The military had the letter policy for a reason.

* * *

A long time ago we met through ink on paper. Or perhaps it would be better to say: _you _met _me _through awkward, childish scrawl begging to fit more on a piece of paper than one could ever fit. It only seems fitting that this is also the last form of communication we should ever have.

When I was twelve and first told of this letter business, I scoffed. Hot-headed and brash as I was—and very well may still be—I believed that because I had bested the Gate, I could also best death. I'm sure that by now I've done it numerous times out of pure luck and coincidence, little to no thought and none placed to the welfare of others. I want you to know that I never did that because I was ignorant or because I was too stupid to think of it. The welfare and health of everyone around me has always been in the forefront of my mind—regardless of how obvious it is—and the only thing to trump it would be Alphonse.

Alphonse has always been there for me. He was the one thing I could hang onto and depend upon when I was brazen and unwilling to trust my elders. As a child, he would be at my side, completing the other half of my circle before I could even think of it myself. After I had placed him in his suit of armor, it became more than just a wish but yet a duty to ensure he got back to his body.

At the time that I'm writing this, I don't know if I succeeded in this. I don't know if he's standing beside you, creaking from rust due to rain or if he's flesh, bone and blood. If he is the former, listen to what he has to say and do the best you can for him, but do not give him back his body. I know he wouldn't ask this of anyone but myself, however I don't know how "close" we may be at the time of my death. If you think it upon yourself to fulfill what I could not, I demand that you step back and think about what you're doing. Chances are more than likely that this goal is exactly what led to my untimely death and will thus lead you to yours. You have dreams and aspirations to keep to, each and every one more important than the last and definitely more important than the obsession of your youngest subordinate, whom you knew for only a handful of years.

Now that I remind you of how long we've been acquaintances, you are probably wondering what in the world I am doing writing my death-letter to you and not to my brother. There are a myriad of things that could go wrong or even go right, but if I have my way than by the time you get this Al will have his body and be far from the clutches of the militia. As a student to a master, I'm asking you to keep him safe from the military. I neither know nor care what it will take to get him to safety, but just this once will you please listen to my request, even be it on a whim, and keep him from harm's way? If Bradley or whomever steps up after his death (the old fart is going on sixty, unheard of for a Fuhrer that has reigned this long; I doubt he will last much longer after this letter has been penned) ever learns of what Al went through, he will be targeted.

But if all things go wrong, there's a slight chance that due to our simultaneous Calling of the Gate, Al and my souls/spirits/whatever-you-call-it are in fact linked and therefore my death results in his. While this isn't a theory I've particularly tried upon, it's still something that may in fact come true years or even days from now. Because of this link, it would be useless to write a letter to him, though if he does survive my limited number of days, please... please tell him that I love him. Tell him that I can't stand the thought of him living this world trapped in a metal cage or tell him that getting him to his body was the single greatest thing I could ever do with my life. Whichever is true, tell him.

There are other things that this letter brings to mind. Winry, Hawkeye, Izumi, Sig, Pinako, Hawkeye and the rest of the team, Armstrong, Hughes, Gracia and Elysia… all of them I have things I wish to say to them. Things that I am too ineloquent—as a man who bottles his emotions up until they choke the breath from my throat—to say. But mostly, my thoughts come to you and onto your shoulders.

I have plans for what to do after my mission is over. Things to think over and consider depending on where I end my journey at. But most of my current thoughts actually revolve on staying in the Military. I know, shocking, yes, but this is all I really know. This is my home until I'm finally thrown into combat. It's where I met Hawkeye, Havoc, Fury, Breda, Falman, Black Hayate, all of the Armstrongs, Bradley, Sheska and, dare I even mention it, it's where I met you, Mustang. Or do I call you Roy now? Right now, all I can think of is calling you Lieutenant Colonel Bastard, which is much too long of a title. If you're not Fuhrer by the time you receive this, I very well don't know what the _fuck _you've been doing with your life.

But, back to these plans. They're stupid, short-lived things. I'm tired of traveling, even at the age of fourteen. I'm tired of lumpy train cars and stupid idiots who don't know a Xerxian glyph from a Baglusalve glyph. I'm tired of running and hiding from everything. But mostly, I'm tired of hiding behind an angry façade to keep important questions from being asked. I've seen so much and experienced so much in the span of two years that I wish I were like Falman—someone who only joined the Military to pass the time and someone who is counting years until retirement, not decades like you or I.

I planned on turning down some assignments. I planned on securing myself a stupid, boring desk job to focus on and to slowly move up in the ranks until I was a Brigadier General, be it that I last that long. I don't want anything more than a Generalship, though. I want to be able to stop and kick peoples asses with three or four words, get people to do what I want and/or need without feeling guilty.

So in essence, as embarrassing as this is to write, I had planned on pushing you up through the ranks, Mustang. I had planned on getting you to your Fuhrership, where you _fucking belong God damn it. _This country—more than the country—this _nation_ needs you. She's desperate and poor and unable to think for Herself. She needs someone like _you _to right this wrong and turn bad things good. To rework and redefine what this government stands for and, damn it all, you're the only person to do this.

I have to remind myself that this letter is only to be seen by you after my death, even after rereading what I've already written. It's been a year since I placed this letter in the back of my trunk to finish after a short nap, yet not one of these words changes. Your rank may have improved and such, but I'm still planning on pushing you through the rest of them.

And, in the very same essence I mentioned one year ago, back when I was fourteen and naïve, I plan on learning under you. [The quick, uncertain jerk of the quill leaves behind a scattered mark, written over in the next paragraph.]

At fifteen I really was an easy-to-embarrass, naïve little shit wasn't I? But what I said a year ago and what I am writing now have no different meanings, Mustang. I've watched during my travels, promoting havoc where I may but leaving behind less than I easily can. I clean up my messes, Mustang. Not because I can or should (though those are factors), but because you would get a bad name if I were to do anything else. I place well-remarks in your favor as often as possible and, dare I even think it, I truly have learned under you. Politics and ways of deceit are both easily manageable, though not preferably. I still have far to go, though. I plan on more. I hope you don't disappoint me.

I am now laying my pen down to discuss with Alphonse some of the finer points of the newer theories we've come across in our newest travels. As it seems the tradition I've made for myself, I don't suspect I'll pick it up until I'm well into my seventeenth year, perhaps even further. Nevertheless, the words in this letter never yet cease to stop being truthful.

And truthful this last paragraph has become. It has been over a year since I last laid eyes on this page of mélange writing, scribbled in chicken-scratch debacle and goofy cursive both. Much has happened, so much so that I've finally steeled myself to sit down and finish this.

The Promised Day is to begin in less than twenty-four hours and I do not plan on living through it. This is my last chance. This is when Alphonse will get his body back or we will both die along with the rest of the world.

There is much I wish I had learned, but now that I have this older, less-naïve thought of mind and perspective to learn from, I can look back and understand the uncertain, heady, thoughtless rambling this letter began with and what I need to say now. When I first picked these pages up six years ago I thought I would write a book before feeling that I could get across the reasons why I would write to you above all else. I've finally understood that and finally have the ability to describe it into words.

But before I do that, there are other things I need to add. Like the fact that if you are alive right now, you better fucking making it to Fuhrer within the next three years because, damn it, what I said before still rings true. It rings even louder now that the corruption of Bradley has begun to grow and prosper into an abused flower—into an abused Amestris. I want you to know that there is nothing but death that can stop my supporting you and, damn it all, I expect you to fucking prove me right. [The rest of the letter is dotted with wet marks, smeared slightly with ink, proof of how Edward didn't have enough time to rewrite this letter without the tear stains.]

That's the one thing I want from you in life and in death. I want someone somewhere to prove that what I did and what I said were needed. That my voice didn't go unheard under the cacophony of hushed whispers of the Homunculus' true being and the parakeet squawks of disbelieving higher-ups. I need someone to prove to me that I believed in the right man and trusted that he was right. Just once in my life—even if it be after death—I want to have one thing I said or believed fullheartedly become true. I don't want to become some ridiculous, religious-minded _nutter_ so you have to prove to me and to the others that what I said is true. If I were still there, Mustang, I would kick your ass until you did just as needed.

However, fact of the matter is: if you're reading this, I'm not there. I'm dead. Just as I planned. I'm better off dead after finishing my goal with Alphonse anyway, because there's really nothing left in this world for me. I will give up my entire body for Al to have his back. To right the God forsaken wrong I've committed. To blast this _sin_ away from an ungraceful suit of armor and place it back into the arms of a living, breathing, flesh _being_.

And Mustang, I have one more thing to say to you before I tell you why I wrote this to you.

You are a great man. A conceited bastard who plays with the minds of everyone he distrusts with an ego to match the size of the continent, but you are a great man. A great man with great aspirations that _deserve _to be reached. You _deserve _to be Fuhrer and, God, I really wouldn't be saying any of this if I wasn't dead—that's how much this really is true. You are a great man at the hands of the worst critic known to man: yourself. You deserve everything you have fought for; everything from that comfy office chair to the team at your beck-and-call, myself including because, let's face it, I'm just as much as an egotistical bastard unable to come to terms with the fact that I'm still a _kid _and _kids need guidance_. I committed the taboo and survived, but that did not make me, miraculously, thirty years old. I was still a kid.

And this is where the reason comes into play, Roy. Roy, not Mustang, because this is my last day of life and I've always wanted to be equals with you. So let me be equal in death. A long time ago, a man walked into the room whom I had no idea existed prior and inspired me to get off of my ass and _do something _about the hand that Life had dealt me. I just wanted to be able to thank him.

I want to thank him, not you, not the uncertain man Hell-bent on revenge you are now. So when he comes back into existence, make sure that he gets this. I want him—not you—to know how thankful and grateful I am for every waking moment he has spent worrying over me and pulling strings for me. Because I know now how hard it would be for me to get where I am without you.

Most of all, thank you for treating me like a kid. I know you would deny it, but kids like to play games of make-pretend and force others to believe their lies and, damn it all, I was really _just a kid_. So thank you for playing this game of make-pretend with me and treating me like the adult we both know I'm not.

Thank you. For every moment, every day, every single breath you took to make sure Alphonse and I were ok. Even moreso than that, thank you for pretending like you weren't expending any hint of care or concern for us—for me.

There is no way to explain to you just how thankful I am in the mere course of words or even in person. I could go on for hours or days, neither of which I have. I could go on for the rest of my life trying to try, but the fact that I'm crying is evidence enough… right?

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry because I know you fought in Ishval and killed kids even younger than Alphonse is. I'm sorry. But this is another child's life gone to waste. I can't possibly imagine how many times you've run your hands through your hair or damaged something because you were pissed at me or worried or any mix in between. I had a childhood, full and free, and I threw it all away because I wanted to see some _smile _I could have seen if I were less ignorant and more open to looking at picture-books. So I'm sorry that I threw it away but more importantly I'm sorry I made you watch me cast it aside without allowing you to have your state of thought in it.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry, but this is one less life on your hands.

Thank you for everything you have ever done, even if I was mad and even if I don't know of it now.

Thank you.

It seems what I said at the beginning of the letter is correct.

A long time ago we met through ink on paper. Or perhaps it would be better to say: _you _met _me _through awkward, childish scrawl begging to fit more on a piece of paper than one could ever fit. It only seems fitting that this is also the last form of communication we should ever have.

And it also seems fitting that the last words this letter reads are "thank you" because _thank you._

Edward Elric, the former Full Metal Alchemist


	7. Chapter 7

Hi guys! As most of you are aware, is closing shop.

This is just a courtesy note that my stories are also available at AO3 and on Tumblr, both of which have the same name to them.

Both of my files are new on each of these platforms, so I haven't gotten around to uploading what I have on this website yet, but I also have homestuck stories on the both of them. I would really appreciate it if you look them up! If you have any questions, feel free to message me on Tumblr or AO3 (if that's possible; I haven't figured it out yet).

jiraiyawhitneyFANFICTIONISAD OUCHEANDWONTALLOWDOTStumblrD OTcom

archiveofourownDOTorg /users /JiraiyaWhitney


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